Of Songs and the Color of Darkness
by the ticking clock
Summary: In the endless dark of Moria, a dwarf and an elf find common ground.


**I have no idea what this is...**

**I'm doing research on Tolkien for a school project so my head has been swimming with lord of the rings lately. This story started out a lot more coherent than it ended up, I apologize. I've always been fascinated with the scenes in Moria because I feel like a lot happened that the reader(or viewer, since these characters are closer to their movie counterparts than book-verse) didn't get to see. Than I thought about wood elves talking to trees and dwarves being so in touch with their mountains...and this happened. **

The darkness had color.

He had not expected to find any source of light in a place like this. When the rocks had crumbled behind them, his senses had been so confused in the mess of panting hobbits and bone crunching under boots and Aragorn's hand grabbing at his shoulder to register the gravity of the situation. He'd dreaded the dark, of course, but this was something different.

The actual absence of light did not bother him, he could see perfectly, rather it was what he felt from the mines.

There was pressure on his ears, his head, his heart, constricting his chest. The terrible absence of song frayed at the edges of his consciousness, tearing at him piece by fragile piece. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the snaking of roots through stone, but it brought him no comfort. There was a different kind of music here.

The notes were sharp, firecrackers exploding behind his eyes in quick bursts of pain and the grating screech of stone on stone. The song was incomprehensible to him, a terrifying combination of grief and pain and burning fire. With each step they took deeper into the mines Legolas could feel the weeping song with more clarity. It was both excruciating and frustrating, because he was unable to understand the wailing notes and interweaving melodies that created whatever story the mines were trying to convey.

As Gandalf called for the company to stop for the night, Legolas closed his eyes. Without the constant distraction of movement, he was not sure if he could bear the darkness. Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest, cradling himself as his lungs fought to expand, the tightness and stale ache of the air constricting his ribcage and closing his throat.

He closed his eyes without quite realizing he was doing it, finding some comfort in the own familiar darkness of his body, but losing himself in the wild pull of the song in his mind.

"Legolas."

He did not start as Aragorn's hand came to rest on his shoulder, "Yes?" He said without opening his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Legolas bit back the first words that came to mind, but Aragorn must have sensed his tension because his next words were gentle.

"Forgive me, mellon nin. That was a foolish question."

Still, Legolas did not turn. The song was quieter now that Aragorn was speaking to him, but the grating screams still skirted along the edges of his mind. He shuddered slightly and knelt down, pressing clenched fists against the cool stone. Perhaps physical contact would ground him.

The song screamed behind his eyes and Legolas jerked back.

Aragorn caught at his shoulders. "Legolas?" Real concern was in his voice now, a balm against the pain in his head. "Legolas, speak, what is troubling you?"

Other members of the fellowship had noticed their hissed conversation. Legolas heard Gandalf rise to his feet, Pippin whisper to Merry, "What happened?" And Frodo's quiet sigh.

Standing quickly, Legolas spared Aragorn half a glance. "I'm alright," He said, and when Aragorn arched an eyebrow, added, "Estel," hoping the use of of his friend's childhood name would be enough.

The ranger nodded once, accepting Legolas's answer, but the sharp clench of his jaw said that the matter was not over yet.

Returning to their camp, Legolas stood close to where Aragorn and Boromier knelt. He felt trapped and enclosed, an animal locked in a cage. He could feel Boromier's eyes on him, the itch of the stare digging under his skin like a sore.

"Do you hear it?"

Legolas started at the rough, not-quite familiar voice and looked down. The dwarf, Gimli was at his elbow, staring at the expanse of cold stone with a twisted expression that mirrored the anguish tearing at Legolas's mind.

He had not had many civil conversations with the dwarf since their journey had began, and although Legolas did not hate him, he was not overly found of him either. Still, there was a curious hitch in Gimli's voice and an echoing quiet to his eyes that Legolas could understand, so he asked, "Hear what, master dwarf?"

Beady eyes turned to him. "The song. I saw you jerk back when you touched the stone."

Legolas barely managed a nod. "I hear it."

The dwarf studied him closely, and Legolas thought he saw something close to respect in those dark, dark eyes before Gimli looked away, "I thought I was the only one. It is a lament of all who died within these mines."

Legolas shivered. "It is painful," he bit his lip, expecting a sudden barb for stating the obvious, but none came. The dwarf only nodded. "Grief is painful," he said, and pressed one hand to the stone under their feet, "and the stone retains the sound of screams."

It was such an elven thing to say, that astute and purely accurate connection with the world beneath their feet. Legolas took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before slowly kneeling so he and the dwarf were at eye level. "The forest of my home often sings like this," He said, making his words slow and careful, tasting them on his tongue before allowing them to pass from his lips. "Once it was glorious and strong and beautiful. Greenwood, we called it," He smiled faintly, caught up in the bittersweet memories of wild birdsong and the pure note of healthy trees, "now it is not so."

"I know," the dwarf said. Somehow, he managed to make the words sound gentle, despite the rough tones. A sharp snort. "My father-"

"I know about your father," Legolas cut him off, "I remember. I was there. Despite what happened between our fathers and our people I hope you remember, dwarf," he tinged the last word with a hint of bitterness, "that I am not my father."

Gimli looked over at him. "Aye. I'm not sure if the great king Thranduil would have noticed Moria's song."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "He would have noticed," he said, "we elves are attuned to the movings of the world. He would have noticed." He thought of his father, burdened under the darkness of Mirkwood and the constant protection of his people, cold as ice to anyone who could not see behind the mask he wore. Legolas was one of the few privileged enough to occasionally glimpse the carefree elf his father had once been, but dragon fire and the decay of their home had changed Thranduil. He was lost in dark moods, paranoid about enemies and spiders and the ring. Legolas had not seen his father smile in...

"He would have noticed," Legolas whispered, "but he would not have cared."

His response was meant with silence. Not an uneasy one, but a weighted heaviness that bespoke of deep speculation and the moving of minds. The hobbits had been listening in on their hushed conversation and looked up. Legolas could feel curious Pippin's eyes on him.

He turned. "Do you have a question, Master Took?"

The young halfling blushed and ducked his head. Legolas knew that the hobbits were not as comfortable around him as the other members of the fellowship. Aragorn had been their savior, Boromier, another man who laughed and joked with them, Gimli, easily drawn in to the hobbit's tales and foul pipe smoke, but Legolas...Legolas stood apart. Like Gandalf, he was something of a mystery to them. "I was just, uh, wondering...what happened to Greenwood?"

Aragorn, who had been mostly silent throughout the exchange, snapped his head up at this question. "Pippin-"

"Estel," Legolas quieted his friend with an upraised hand, "I do not mind speaking about it, and they deserve to know." He sighed, pressing his hands against his eyes. The headache had not lessened, and the song still tore through his mind in quick streaks of sound. Gimli, he noticed was tense beside him.

"It is rather a long story," Legolas admitted, lowering his hands to meet the curious eyes of his younger companions.

"We aren't going anywhere," Merry said, a half smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Legolas was all to aware of that fact. The stones pressed in around him, but even while his soul screamed for trees and clean air and sunlight, while his mind snarled against the grief-stricken song of the minds, he was among friends. Perhaps talking would provide a much needed distraction. Taking a deep breath, Legolas allowed his lungs to expand against his aching ribs, and was surprised to find the process much easier. The air wasn't quite so foul. "My home," he said, "was not always the spider-infested, twisted, dark forest it is today. Once it was quite beautiful."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dwarf lean forward to listen, and noticed that sharpness of the stone's song lessened somewhat as Legolas spoke.

"Like Rivendell?" Sam asked.

Legolas smiled. "Not like Rivendell, Sam, no. I am a wood elf, Master Gamgee, and we live our lives differently than the Noldor."

As he began to tell his story, weaving the threads together, stringing lost tales of pain and fear and corruption into the tapestry of a sunlit wood, Legolas felt himself beginning to relax. However painful the tale was, it felt natural and open and right to be sharing this piece of himself with these people.

Huddled in the dark mines of Moria, these nine companions, who were slowly becoming something like a family, listened to a story of differences and strife and lasting hope. Legolas heard the stone's song more sweetly now, and when he blinked, the black walls around him were alive with color.

Perhaps there was a shred of beauty in these dwarven chasms after all.

**Please forgive the atrocious spelling mistakes, run-on sentences and choppy writing? **


End file.
